


The Journey North

by RhiaWriter



Series: The Crow Flies South Universe [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Ambition, Angst, BookDaenerys, BookJon, Daenerys has more power than Jon in this, Daenerys is Queen, Don't read if that's triggering for you, Duty before love, F/M, Forbidden Love, Jon Snow is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Longing, Not Promising a HEA, Power Imbalance, Strict Social Rules, You don't need to have read the books to follow this though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25242334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhiaWriter/pseuds/RhiaWriter
Summary: After years of trying to man the Wall with only rapers, thieves, and Free Folk, Jon Snow now leads the greatest army Westeros has ever seen north to protect the living. As Lord Commander of the Queen's army, Jon has risen higher than he ever dreamed he could.But Jon's complicated feelings for the Daenerys threaten his ambition and his sense of honor. To do his duty, he must end his affair with the queen, a woman not used to being denied.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: The Crow Flies South Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828660
Comments: 107
Kudos: 489





	The Journey North

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Dany traveled to the Wall to meet Aemon before he died and was with Jon during Hardhome. After Hardhome, she took Free Folk refugees with her back to Essos and vowed to return with her 3 dragons and an army. Jon never died, and has continued to restore the Night's Watch. Bran is Warden of the North. 
> 
> Part 1 has more exposition, so I recommend reading that first.

“I hate this place.” Arya looked up at the looming walls of Harrenhal. “It’s fucking haunted.”

“What would Sansa think to hear you talk like that?” Jon asked. 

“Sansa isn’t here,” Arya rolled her eyes. “And Sansa might use language fouler than mine if she’d seen what I’d seen in those walls.”

“I’m sorry, Arya.” The familiar guilt sat like a stone at the bottom of Jon’s stomach. Maester Aemon and Commander Mormont had made his duty feel so important as a young recruit. But now that he knew all that Arya had gone through when he hadn’t even bothered to look for her, he was no longer certain that following his duty had been the right choice. 

“I survived, didn’t I?” Arya shrugged. “Don’t you need to be doing something, Lord Commander? You’re usually much too busy these days to spend time with the likes of me.”

As Lord Commander of the Queen’s Armies, he had been busy. Jon had been on the road for a week, leading a company of 70,000 troops. More would join them from the Riverlands and the Vale as they made their way to the north. Jon commanded all of them. His days were spent charting the course, directing his generals, and most challenging of all, making sure camps were set for the night. It was slow progress, and the problems he had to solve were far from glamorous. If all went well, there would be no battles before they reached the Wall. So instead of battle tactics, Jon’s head reeled with much more earthly questions. Did his men have enough food? How many encampments would they need to set each night? Where did they shit? Were there any reports of his soldiers raping women?

Jon had made it a point to take his meals with a different regiment each night. He needed to get to know his men, and he needed them to know him, or at least the lord commander. He wanted to be seen as calm and serious—the opposite of the rumors that had spread about him ever since the queen had elevated him to one of the most powerful positions in the Seven Kingdoms: that he was a lusty, power-hungry bastard from the north.

“I’ll eat with you tonight,” Jon said. 

“I’m sure you’ll have to,” Arya replied. “Won’t the queen want her inner circle to dine with her at Harrenhal?”

Jon cleared his throat. “Aye, I suppose she will.”

In the months that they had known one another, Arya and the queen had struck up a fast friendship. Arya was convinced that the queen would take her for a trip on Drogon soon. But Arya wasn’t simply using the queen for her dragons. Daenerys let Arya be, taking an interest in his sister’s skills with a blade and sharing stories between them about the Targaryen warrior queens of old. It warmed Jon’s heart to see a woman in power respect who Arya was instead of pushing her to be someone different. 

Jon heard a familiar cry. “Speaking of,” he muttered under his breath, looking up to see the great black shadow of Drogon circling over the armies and the shadowy, ruined towers of Harrenhal. Rhaegal and Viserion flew above their brother. Daenerys split her time on the road between riding on a horse and riding on Drogon. No doubt, she had chosen to make a dramatic entrance to the fabled keep, flexing her strength for Lady Whent. The queen had told Jon that finding a person to gift the castle to after her conquest had been a challenge. Many highborn were now convinced that it was cursed and had no interest in ruling the great keep that had once been considered a prize. But then Lady Whent had emerged from hiding, and Daenerys had re-gifted the castle to her as a token of the Whent family's loyalty to the Targaryens. 

The queen landed in front of the keep and slipped off Drogon, her silver curls gleaming against her dragon’s black scales. She wore a black riding cloak with red piping. A warrior, dragon-riding queen. Jon’s heart hurt to look at her. 

“Come, Jon,” Arya spurred her horse forward. “The queen will want us there to meet Lady Whent.” Jon followed after Arya, cursing himself that Arya of all people needed to lecture him about proper etiquette. 

The Queensguard, including Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Edmund Rosby, Black Fist, and Hero, moved in to protect their queen as Drogon rose and circled overhead. Harry Hardyng, who was supposed to be leading troops at the end of the line, materialized, as did Lord Yohn Royce. Tyrion Lannister joined them, waving a servant forward to help him off his horse with its special saddle contraption to accommodate his height. Jon looked up at the entrance to see a small, old woman exiting the castle. She appeared tiny framed against the enormous doors of the oversize keep.

“Your Grace.” Lady Whent bent the knee at Daenerys’s feet smoothly, despite her old age. “Welcome to Harrenhal. I never thought we would host a Targaryen again in my time.”

“Rise, Lady Whent,” Daenerys said. “Thank you for the welcome. I come with a large army. My Lord Commander and the Master of Supplies will need to speak with you about where to settle the troops.”

For the next few hours, Jon and Tyrion worked smoothly together arranging the army into orderly camps. 

“The Riverlands will be glad to be rid of us,” Tyrion said as they made their way back to the monstrous keep after getting everyone settled. “There won’t be a blade of grass that hasn’t been trampled by the time we’ve made it through.”

“And onto the north,” Jon grunted. “Where we’ll need to worry about snow.”

“I’ll never forgive you for convincing Daenerys to march the greatest army ever amassed to the edge of the world.”

“ _I_ didn’t convince her,” Jon said. “The dead convinced her.”

“Yes, the dead, the dead,” Tyrion clipped. “From the way you talk, it seems that I’ll wet myself at my first sight of them.”

“I’d like to hear the bards sing songs about that,” Jon snorted. 

“Are you coming to dinner in the keep?” Tyrion asked. 

“Why, do you think I shouldn’t?” Jon asked. 

“No, quite the opposite. But it seems to me that you’ve been avoiding the queen since we began our journey. You dined with her nearly every night in King’s Landing, but you haven’t dined with her once this past week. Did something happen?”

Jon clenched his teeth, not wanting to take the bait. He liked Tyrion. The man was smart, sharp. The job of moving 70,000 people north would have been nearly impossible without him. Still, Jon would be a fool to trust him. Besides, he didn’t have time to strengthen old friendships right now. 

“As lord commander of the armies, I believe it’s important for me to spend time with my men,” Jon said. “I need to know them better; I need for them to see me. They’re not going to respect a man who dines with a queen every night.”

“Are you saying they don’t respect _me?_ ” Tyrion put on a face of fake hurt.

“Of course not,” Jon rolled his eyes, wishing to change the subject. They had made it back to the keep, where a serving maid greeted them. 

“Good evening, m’lords,” she curtsied. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

“I will sleep in my tent with the Night’s Watch,” Jon countered. He could feel Tyrion’s eyes upon him but refused to return his look.

“As you wish,” she said. “But the queen insisted that you both join her and Lady Whent for dinner tonight.”

So, Jon joined the queen’s table for dinner. Lady Whent had insisted on an intimate affair in her private solar. Not that anything felt intimate in Harrenhal. The solar was still nearly as large as the Great Hall at Winterfell. The fireplace dwarfed the rest of the room and the company. Daenerys sat in front of it, the fire illuminating her, giving her an otherworldly quality. Her silver hair glowed, while her violet eyes looked darker, richer. Lady Whent sat to Daenerys’s right. Arya, Tyrion, Ser Barristan, Lordy Royce, Lord Hardyng, and the Blackfish completed the group. 

“I must say, I never thought that I would live to see Starks, Targaryens, and Lannisters breaking bread together.” Lady Whent raised her goblet to salute the little company. “And a Stark leading a Targaryen army.”

“I’m not a Stark, I’m a Snow,” Jon corrected. Daenerys sighed audibly. 

“Still, I was happy to hear that you were leading Her Grace’s armies,” Lady Whent said. She turned to Daenerys. “And I approve of you taking the Night’s Watch so seriously.” 

“I’ve traveled beyond the Wall,” Daenerys said. “The lord commander and I fought the Others together. I won’t ignore the threat.”

“Lord Commander Mormont always praised your support for the Watch, Lady Whent.” Jon remembered his old mentor being especially appreciative of the southrons who thought the Watch was more than a jape. 

“It’s important work.” Lady Whent nodded her head appreciatively. “And Lord Willas rules as the Hand in King’s Landing? And you’re betrothed?”

“He does, and we are,” Daenerys said. 

“He’s a good man,” Lady Whent said. “He’ll make a good king.”

“King Consort,” Tyrion corrected. 

“King Consort,” Lady Whent agreed. She wasn’t wrong. In King’s Landing, Jon had avoided Lord Willas as much as he could without arousing suspicion. But the time that he had spent with the queen’s betrothed had revealed the man to be smart as well as gracious and respectful towards Daenerys. Jon’s life would be simpler if he could hate the man. 

“The threat to the Wall sounds terrifying,” Lady Whent continued. “But it is good for the Seven Kingdoms to have a cause to unite us again.”

“Not Dorne,” Tyrion stabbed at his pickled cabbage. “They refused all our offers of reconciliation and plan to wait out this fight.”

“And they will be remembered throughout history as cravens who hid in their desert while brave men fought to save the world!” Harry Hardyng slapped the table for emphasis and perhaps as proof of his own bravery. Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes. He hoped he never sounded as naive as Hardyng when speaking of the fight ahead. 

“How are you leading an army this large across half the continent?” Lady Whent asked. 

“Lord Commander Snow has done a remarkable job,” Lord Royce said, and he and Tyrion began sharing in detail with Lady Whent the methods Jon was using to organize the troops, and Tyrion’s massive caravan effort to move enough supplies north. Jon let the two men talk, surprised at Lady Whent’s interest in the mundane details. 

Jon focused on his stew and the ale that Lady Whent had provided for him. He certainly wasn’t trying to look at the queen, but how could he stop himself when she was sitting right across from him, and he hadn’t been this close to her in days? Her skin looked fresh despite the week spent outside on the cold road, but there were circles under her eyes. Was she sleeping? He wasn’t. No rumors had reached him yet, but how long would it take for her to find someone to share her bed and give her comfort on the road? Daenerys caught Jon’s eye and stared right back at him, a challenge in her look. Jon wrenched his eyes away, studying the carrots floating in the thick broth of his stew. Jon looked up again, feeling Tyrion’s eyes on him, a frown on his face. But when he caught Jon’s eye, he winked, and then distracted the table with his antics on ordering the digging of latrines for 70,000 men to shit in. 

“You look remarkably like your Aunt Lyanna,” Lady Whent looked pointedly at Arya, after Tyrion had finished his story. 

“That’s what they say.” Arya always chafed at being compared to her famous dead aunt. “Thank you for hosting us, but Harrenhal hasn’t been good to our family in the past.”

“You were kept prisoner here,” Lady Whent nodded, compassion in her eyes. Jon was surprised she knew that. Sansa had tried to keep the details of Arya’s years on the run quiet. “I couldn’t believe what those Lannister troops did to our home. I’m sorry you had to see it like that.”

“Hope they’re all dead now.” Arya gulped her wine in an unladylike fashion.

“Did you know my brother well?” Daenerys turned to Lady Whent, her hair catching the glow of the firelight as she moved her head.

“As well as anyone did. Your brother was a mystery. Still, he wanted what was best for the realm. We were happy to help him host the tournament here.”

“So Rhaegar was behind the tournament?” Lord Royce asked. “There were rumors always, but nothing confirmed.”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Whent said. “He knew his father needed to be removed. If Aerys hadn’t suspected something and come to the tournament, I believe Rhaegar would have been successful.”

“And if Rhaegar hadn’t kidnapped and raped my aunt, perhaps he would have had more success as well,” Arya said bluntly. Jon kicked her under the table and bit his own tongue. This was not a road they needed to go down in the present company.

“We’ll never know what happened, my lady,” Ser Barristan chimed in. “But I could never believe that Rhaegar was a rapist. That wasn’t the man I knew.”

“You think they ran off together?” Arya asked. 

“She had no interest in Robert, I can tell you that,” Lady Whent said. “She shrugged off all of his advances during the tournament. But she did seem to have eyes for the prince.”

“Maybe she didn’t want either of them,” Arya offered. “Father always said I was like her. Maybe she wanted to stay at Winterfell with her horses forever.”

“No matter what she wanted, Rhaegar should have known better,” Lord Royce said. “Running off with a lord paramount’s daughter.”

“But if he loved her,” Daenerys offered. “Sometimes these things can’t be helped.”

Jon felt a pounding in his temple at her words. His heart raced, and he felt a peculiar rage building inside of him. “Can’t be helped?” he sneered. “Surely, Rhaegar could have helped starting a civil war.”

“My father started the civil war,” Daenerys countered. “And he was mad. Rhaegar ran off with the woman he loved. It was reckless, but it wasn’t mad.”

“Recklessness like that by someone in power _is_ madness,” Jon’s voice was hoarse with emotion. Since when did he give a fuck about Rhaegar and Lyanna? “He had a wife and children. He couldn’t have been so naive to not understand what his selfishness would cause.” 

“Selfishness?” Daenerys’s voice quavered, on the verge of betraying her own dangerous emotions. “Is that how you would describe love?”

“I’m a man of the Night’s Watch,” Jon grunted. “We’re taught to care about honor above our own lusts.”

“And you do an admirable job of it, Lord Commander!” Tyrion's voice rang falsely cheerful in Jon’s ears. “From what I hear, this man has never once set foot in a Mole’s Town brothel. And he’s been in the Watch for seven years! Now, I myself was at the Wall for only a few days, but despite everyone’s warnings, I couldn’t stay away from the pleasures that Mole’s Town had to offer. I must admit, it’s a place of peculiar tastes. For instance, I’d never been with a one-legged prostitute before…” Tyrion successfully diffused the situation, entertaining the table with bawdy tales of his antics in the Mole’s Town brothels. Antics that Jon highly suspected he was making up on the spot, seeing as Jon had never heard of a one-legged whore in Mole’s Town. 

Jon played with his stew, drank his ale, and did his best to ignore the daggers that Daenerys was glaring at him. His head pounded. He would really rather be anywhere than in this intimate group with the queen. The smell of her perfume was awfully distracting, bringing back memories he had spent all week trying to forget.

***

For three months Jon had stayed in King’s Landing, preparing the armies for the march north. He worked sunrise until sunset, meeting with the lords, drilling the men, and drafting plans with Tyrion to move supplies north. Those days were exhilarating. For years, he had been trying to defend the Wall with rapists, thieves, and Free Folk. While the Boltons ruled the north, he knew they didn’t stand a chance. When his family took it back, he thought, at least he would no longer die alone. But now they could actually win. He had all the resources he could ever hope for at his disposal and under his command. That secret, ambitious part of him that he had learned to hide from the world at a very young age had awakened. He knew how to be politic: deferring to the trueborns when necessary and putting up a front of humility that they would find nonthreatening. But despite his calculated deferrals to the Westerosi hierarchy, the knowledge burned inside of him that as long as this war lasted, he commanded the greatest army the continent had ever seen. The platitude that one could rise high in the Night’s Watch had at times felt like a lie to force him to join a celibate order when he was far too young. But Jon had turned that lie into a reality. Young Jon Snow would have been proud. He thought his father would have been proud of him, too. 

So, how could he explain what happened during his nights in King’s Landing? How could he justify, having risen so high, coming so close to achieving his goal, that he was willing to risk it all and let the queen into his bed? Was this the curse of having been born a bastard? To be chained to his desires? 

For three months, Jon’s life was enmeshed with Daenerys’s. When he wasn’t with his troops or with Tyrion Lannister, he was with Daenerys in council meetings, dinners, and secretly at night. How did Jon justify the risks he was taking, particularly when so much was on the line? He couldn't really, but he told himself he was simply stealing time and comfort. The longer they shared each other’s bed, however, the harder it felt to give it up. How would he ever be able to forget what her hair looked like, unbound on his pillow; the sound of her moans as he gave her pleasure; or the look in those violet eyes when she seemed to give herself to him completely? More dangerous than the physical comfort were the whispered conversations they had in the dark: musings on leadership and the enormous task in front of them. For the first time in his life, Jon didn't feel lonely. 

The day before they marched north, however, Lady Olenna visited Jon in his solar. Their conversation contained thinly barbed threats that Jon would be a fool to ignore. 

“Lady Olenna visited me today,” he told Daenerys as they lay in bed together that night. 

“What did she say?” Daenerys asked, tracing circles on his naked chest.

“Many things. She doesn’t lack for words, that one. She mostly threatened me for taking power away from her son.”

“Old fool!” Daenerys snorted. “I’m protecting her son’s power. He can’t be the Hand in King’s Landing and lead my armies north! I gave the position to a man that I can’t marry. She should be thanking me for protecting their power.”

“She insinuated that I was a threat to him in other ways.” Jon traced Daenerys’s naked hip where it was draped across his own. 

“Does she know anything?” Daenerys’s voice was pitched high, a hint of panic in it. 

“Didn't seem to. She—uh—made a few comments about my looks.” Jon coughed to hide his embarrassment.

“Should I be worried?” Daenerys kissed his neck and then his jaw. “Is she trying to steal you from me?”

“No, thank you, I’m not interested in regular verbal lashings from my illicit lover.”

“Did you give anything away?” Daenerys traced his brow, soothing out the worried wrinkles around his eyes.

“I don't think so.” What scared him most was how easy it became for him to live this duplicitous court life. It wasn’t so different from his time undercover with the Free Folk. Lying to everyone during the day, laying in a woman’s arms at night. But with the Free Folk, he had a cause outside of himself. With Daenerys, he had no excuse besides how good she tasted; how she seemed to fit perfectly in his arms; the self-worth he felt knowing that she could choose literally any man in the world, and she chose him. 

“I didn't think you would.” Daenerys’s fingers moved from his brows to his lips. “That face of yours is like a mask. You rarely show your emotions. Really, you were made for this.”

Jon winced at her words. He didn’t _want_ to be made for this.

“I’m going to miss it,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her close so he didn’t need to look at her as he said it. 

“Miss what?” Daenerys pulled away, looking him straight in the eye, not letting him avoid her.

“This,” Jon gestured between them. “We leave for the north tomorrow.”

“I know. We’ll be traveling with the army together. You’ll miss the comfort of this bed?”

“Daenerys.” Jon tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I said in the beginning that we could only do this in King’s Landing.”

“You said we couldn’t do this at Castle Black,” Daenerys countered. “We’re still months from Castle Black.” 

“We can’t continue this on the road. It’s too dangerous.”

Daenerys sat up, her face flushing. “We will be discreet.”

“The fate of the world depends on us getting these next months right. This could ruin everything. We can’t keep putting our work at risk like this. It would be impossible to keep this quiet on the road.”

“So that’s it, then?” Daenerys rose from the bed. “It’s just over, easy as that?”

"I didn’t say it was easy,” Jon said. “But it’s the right thing to do.”

“And you get to decide that, do you?” Daenerys paced the room, her bare feet slapping on the stones. Her complete comfort in her own nudity gave her a regal air.“Who made you the arbiter of morals?”

“No one,” Jon said. “But I’m the person who took a vow. I’m the one who’s taking the greatest risk.”

“I’m the queen,” Daenerys had the gall to say as she imperiously pulled on her robe.

“What does that matter?” Jon’s stomach dropped. He felt as if he were watching a stranger. “I thought in here you were simply Daenerys.”

“It matters when you decide that you can just leave me.” 

“I’m not leaving you,” Jon ground through his teeth. “I will be with you every day. But I can’t do this anymore, Daenerys. I’m Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. I took a vow of chastity. Surely, you can see this is impossible.”

“If it was so impossible, then how did you fuck me multiple times a night for the past three months?”

“ That was your idea.” Jon felt heat rush to his face, hating having his own shame thrown back in his face. This had always been the agreement. Why was she acting like he was the unreasonable one?

“Well, you certainly seemed to enjoy it!”

Jon buried his face in his hand, steadying his breaths so he wouldn’t say something he would regret. “I never said I didn’t. But we can’t keep taking this risk. It’s not worth it.”

Daenerys flinched at his choice of words. Part of Jon wanted to take them back. The other part clung to them as if they were a raft and his desire for Daenerys the sea.

“And you get to decide if it’s worth the risk?” Daenerys asked. “Don’t I get any say in the matter?”

“Daenerys, I can’t marry you!” Jon shouted. Ghost rose from where he was resting in front of the hearth and began pacing the room. 

“Who said anything about marriage?” Daenerys countered. 

“This is the only way this ends. And if we end it now, it will hurt a hell of a lot less than if we end it later. No one knows yet. We can avoid embarrassing ourselves in front of the realm.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was so embarrassing for you.”

“I’m Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. You’re the first ruling queen of the Seven Kingdoms. We both have a lot to lose.”

“Well, what if I don’t want it to end?” Daenerys stalked back to the bed, her petite form looming above him. “I’m the queen. You’re mine to command.”

Jon went hot and then cold all over. There was a rushing in his ears and his vision tunneled, a sure sign that he was about to go into a rage. Was this how she viewed their relationship?

“Are you commanding me to continue fucking you?” 

Daenerys had no response to that.

“ _I_ can’t command you to do anything,” Jon said. “But I would like you to leave.”

Daenerys looked like she had more to say, but she bit her tongue, turned on her heel, and retreated through the secret passageway leading back to her rooms.

***

They hadn’t spoken in a week. After spending most of their days and nights together, they both found ways to remain busy with different parts of the army. Jon’s rage was his only solace. He was right to break things off. How dare she treat him with such little respect! And if he slept terribly without her, if he missed holding her in his arms, if he caught himself storing observations to share with her at the end of the day—well, he had spent most of his life alone. He would grow used to being alone again. 

But to sit with her through dinner was torture enough. And then to have to hear her praise Rhaegar as some great romantic! Was that what she wanted from Jon? For him to run away with her and damn the consequences for the rest of the realm? It was insane. It was selfish. And it was unwise. He had built Daenerys up in his mind during the two years they spent apart; envisioning her as a fiery savior—the answer to all his problems. But the woman beneath it all was far more complicated than that. 

Finally, when Jon had finished his stew and Tyrion began yet another tale of the brothels on the King’s Road, Jon pushed his bowl away and excused himself from the table as politely as he could.

“I would like to turn in, too,” Arya said. “Jon, will you take me to my room?”

Lady Whent summoned a servant to guide them from the solar to Arya’s rooms. 

“I think I would rather sleep in a tent, to be honest.” Arya eyed the looming walls of the keep. 

“Lady Whent would see it as an insult after she offered you shelter.” 

“You’re sleeping with the army.”

“I’m their lord commander. It’s different,” Jon grunted. 

“Do you want to tell me why you’re in such a foul mood?” Arya narrowed her eyes at him.

“No.” Jon stared straight ahead at the back of the servant leading them.

“And you don’t want to tell me why the queen is pissed at you?” Arya continued. The greatest joy in Jon’s adult life had been reuniting with his sister. But there were times when he would appreciate some respite from her constant curiosity. 

“If she’s pissed, it’s none of my concern.”

“She’s the queen!”

They had reached the room set aside for Arya. It was cavernous, with a fireplace that looked like it would swallow his small sister whole.

“Is it wise to fight the queen about her brother? I know I stepped in, but you kept going like you were trying to pick a fight.”

“I wasn’t fighting her,” Jon said. “But it’s in her best interest not to talk like that when we head north. The old guard still care about Rhaegar and Lyanna. She needs to watch what she says.”

“Suit yourself,” Arya shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like the wisest move on your part.”

“Since when have you cared about wisdom?” 

“Since you started acting like a green boy sulking at the dinner table,” Arya said. “Don’t think that other people didn’t notice.”

“Good night, sister,” Jon said. “I have a lot to do tomorrow. We should both get some sleep.”

Jon wandered the massive hallways of Harrenhal, kicking himself for behaving badly enough for Arya of all people to reprimand him! In the three months in the capital, no one had questioned Jon’s outward behavior. And many courtiers had been eager to find fault with the bastard who had risen so high in the world. But Jon had been careful. He had played their games. And he buried deep inside himself his emotions about the queen. Ending the affair was supposed to set things right and make his job easier. But now that it was over, he couldn’t hide his moods. Arya noticed. Tyrion noticed. Soon he would have the whole army talking. 

Jon turned and made his way to the massive double doors, built for giants, but only used by men.

“Do you want me to hate the memory of my brother?” The queen startled him from his reverie as she entered the hall, alone except for the Unsullied Guards who flanked her. 

“No, Your Grace. I’m sorry if I was rude. That was not my intention.” Jon nodded to her and then made his way to the doors. The queen followed him, matching his stride as he walked out into the crisp winter air. Daenerys pulled her cloak around her. She looked cold. Even in the dim torchlight, Jon could see that her nose was red. 

“I’ve admitted that my father was an evil man, but I won’t believe my brother was a rapist. It doesn’t make sense with everything else that I’ve been told about him.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Jon turned his gaze from her face, eyeing the camp that stretched out below them. “I actually know little about it all. My father never spoke of his sister. Perhaps it was a true love story.” He doubted it. There was a flash of white in the dark. Ghost bounded up the hill from the camp. The wolf sidestepped Jon, heading straight towards Daenerys. Jon’s wolf licked Daenerys’s face. She laughed and patted Ghost on his head, which was almost eye level with hers, and scratched him behind his ears. The wolf leaned into her, content. Traitor. 

“Ghost, to me.” Jon called his wolf away, resuming his march down the hill.

“Jon, stop,” Daenerys grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt. They had reached a dark patch between the torches from the keep and the lights of the army camp. Besides Daenerys’s Unsullied, they were alone on the path. “I’m not that naive. I don’t appreciate you talking to me like I’m some little girl caught up in a bard’s song. I know my brother made mistakes. Big mistakes. But I think there was more to it than that.”

“I’m sure there was. I don’t see why you care about my opinion on the matter.” 

“I care what you think.” Daenerys looked up at him, her big violet eyes cast in shadow. She seemed so different now than she had in his room at the Red Keep. She looked so small and vulnerable, like she normally was when they were alone together. “Sometimes I think you’re the only person in my life who makes any sense.”

“Oh.” Jon looked down at his feet, kicking some dirt off his boot. “Well, I suppose it’s good I lead your army, then.”

“Jon, will you please let me—I’ve been wanting to explain since last week—to apologize, I suppose.” Daenerys fidgeted with the edge of her cloak. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Your Grace,” Jon said automatically, trying to keep his face as still as possible, clamping down on his still simmering anger.

“Will you stop ‘Your Gracing’ me?” Daenerys asked, her own anger rising to the surface. “I’m trying to—I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I shouldn’t have commanded you in that moment. It was wrong of me.”

“You’re the queen. I’m yours to command.”

“But I don’t command you like that. You know I don’t,” Daenerys countered.

“You didn’t. Until you did.”

In the dim light from the torches, Jon saw Daenerys color slightly before burying her head in her hands. “Oh,” she sighed. “I wish I hadn’t said that.”

“Ordered me to fuck you, you mean?” Jon immediately regretted his words. This was exactly the conversation he had been avoiding. 

“I didn’t actually do that, did I?” She peaked from behind her fingers. She looked girlish, as if she’d been caught stealing lemon cakes. Jon’s iciness melted at the disconcerting sight.

He started to laugh. “Are you laughing at me?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jon snorted. “But aye, you did do that.”

“It’s just—no man has ever rejected me before.” Daenerys took a deep breath and put her hands back down at her sides. “And I admit that I didn’t react very well. It’s not—I never—I don’t think of myself as your queen when we’re together like that. And I would never want you to be with me if you didn’t want me.”

Jon softened at that. “It’s not that I don’t want you, Daenerys.”

“But you have your duty,” Daenerys stared up at him, as if he were a problem she was trying to solve. “And it’s not just that, is it? It’s your ambition, too. You talk of honor and vows, but there’s a hunger in you to succeed.” Despite his black fur cloak, Jon felt naked before her. Did she know him so well? Even the secret parts he tried to hide? “Your duty and your ambition are more important to you than I am.”

He winced at that, wanting to argue with her. He wanted to tell her how much he cared for her. He wanted to confess that there were early mornings in the Red Keep where he had woken up with a prayer to the old gods as he held her in his arms that he was somehow waking up to a different life, one where he wasn’t the bastard Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and she wasn’t the queen. But that didn’t feel right or fair. He did care for Daenerys, but telling her that could only lead back to where they had been before—a place he knew he couldn’t return to. It felt like Ygritte all over again. But he had made his choice many years before, never knowing that it would lead him so far. He would need to be a different person than he was to turn his back on his duty now. 

“Maybe that’s why we understand each other so. Because I have that, too,” Daenerys reached her hand out to Ghost, who sniffed her fingers. “I’ve sacrificed much for my ambition. To be a good queen, I must do my duty. But the truth is, I want a life that’s more than duty. I want to save the world, and I want to be a great queen.” She took a step closer to him, and Jon had to stop himself from stepping back. He didn’t want to be a craven in front of this fierce warrior queen. “And I want to share my bed with the man I respect above all others. I want to feel under the power of someone else sometimes. I want to touch the one person who can make me feel less alone. I suppose I’m greedy like that.”

Jon sucked in a breath and caught her scent on the air. She was so close to him. It would be easy to pull her into his arms. Easy and reckless.

“I’ve never been allowed to want like that.” Jon’s voice was husky, betraying more emotion than he would have liked.

“But you do want,” Daenerys whispered. 

“This world doesn’t allow most of us to be greedy.” Jon reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear, but then caught himself and put his hand behind his back.

Daenerys wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were stopping herself from touching him as much as he was stopping himself from touching her. 

“Can we still talk?” Daenerys asked. “And not just in councils. Can we talk sometimes like this, alone?”

“It’s risky in the dark like this. If the wrong person saw us, it would spark rumors.”

“During the day, then?” Daenerys asked. “I miss talking to you. No one talks to me like you do. Everyone else is always performing for me.”

“Even Arya?” Jon quirked a brow.

“Well, no, not Arya,” Daenerys said. “But I fear I might start making rash decisions if Arya is my only friend.”

“Aye, don’t let her talk you into having a bloody reign. I’ve always thought she worshipped Rhaenyra a little too much.”

“You have a problem with ruling Targaryen queens?”

“Not at all,” Jon countered. “It’s the burning the relatives alive part that I don’t think you should emulate.”

“Good thing I don’t have any then,” Daenerys laughed. “See? This is the perspective I need in my life. Will you ride with me tomorrow?”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at her, almost bashfully. How hard could it be to ride beside her and put their past behind them? It was no one’s fault that they couldn’t be together. Surely, they were both mature enough to do the right thing now and not let their relationship go back to what it was?

“I promise not to seduce you,” Daenerys offered as an olive branch.

“All right, as long as you promise.” Jon smiled at the ridiculousness of the situation: that he was forced to make the most beautiful woman in the world agree to stay out of his bed. 

“Truce?” Daenerys put out her hand.

“Truce,” Jon shook it firmly, grateful that they were wearing gloves, and he couldn’t feel the soft skin underneath. 

“See you tomorrow, then,” Daenerys said. 

***

If having an affair with Daenerys Targaryen tortured Jon with hypocrisy and guilt, _not_ bedding her introduced new forms of agony. He would catch glimpses of her silver hair gleaming in the winter sun and remember what it looked like illuminated only by the soft candlelight next to his bed. As she rode her horse, dainty and light, he pictured what she looked like perched on top of him. She said that she wanted him to be her friend, but what did that mean exactly? What tone was he supposed to take when speaking to her as a friend? Before he had been her lord commander and her secret lover, and the two roles had felt entirely separate. Trying to have a polite and appropriate friendship with her felt like trying on a pair of boots that didn’t fit. 

“I always thought Syrax seemed pretty fierce, but seeing your children, I think I prefer a black dragon over a yellow one,” Arya chattered away on the queen’s left-hand side. The dragons were circling overhead. Rhaegal and Viserion chased each other in circles around the army while Drogon hovered over the queen in a more dignified manner. 

“What about you, Lord Commander?” Daenerys turned to him. “Did you have a favorite dragon from history when you were young?”

“Not really,” Jon shrugged. “My favorite Targaryen king was always the Young Dragon, though.”

“The Young Dragon, that’s Daeron II?” Daenerys asked. 

“The First,” Jon corrected. Despite her intelligence, Daenerys had never had a formal education. Jon was often surprised that he knew more of Targaryen history than she did. 

“Is he the one who invaded Dorne?” Daenerys asked. 

“He was,” Jon nodded. “And all before he was 18.”

“He didn’t _succeed_ , though,” Arya countered. “And he didn’t have dragons. You’re always interested in the boring things.”

“But he tried,” Jon said. “And it was a damn good campaign, too. He was young enough to have a regent rule for him. But he ruled himself and tried to do something great, despite his age.”

“Says the youngest Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Daenerys smiled at him, admiration in her eyes.

“I’m not actually the youngest.”

“But you’re certainly the most ambitious,” Daenerys said. “No other lord commander has secured over a hundred thousand troops and three dragons to come to the Wall before.”

“We owe that to Your Grace.” Jon felt heat rising in his cheeks and hoped that the two women couldn’t see it.

“And who convinced me?” Daenerys asked. 

“The Others,” Jon kept his eyes on the King’s Road ahead, not wanting to be distracted by the queen’s admiring gaze.

“Was your brother always this modest?” Daenerys turned to Arya, who was watching him squirm with a bemused look on her face.

“Sometimes,” Arya said. “You must know by now how moody Jon is. Depends on what side of the bed he got up on.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Jon protested

“Besides you, you mean?” Daenerys asked. “Will this be your first night in Darry, Arya?” 

“No, I’ve been to Darry before.” Arya eyed the trees lining the King’s Road with suspicion. “Bad memories from this place. This is where Cersei ordered Lady to be killed.”

“Who was Lady?” the queen asked. 

“Sansa’s wolf,” Arya said. “We all had direwolves when we were young. This is where mine left me, and Sansa’s was put to death.”

“What was your wolf’s name?” Daenerys asked. 

“Nymeria.”

“Good name.”

“She’s still in the Riverlands,” Arya said. “I can feel her sometimes.”

“Are you a warg, then, like your brother?” Daenerys’s eyes were bright with interest. She was fascinated by all forms of magic.

“Who told you that Jon was a warg?” Arya eyed the two of them suspiciously. Jon kept his eyes trained on the road ahead.

“The Free Folk talked about it fairly openly when I was at the Wall,” Daenerys said. “I’ve met Val, Tormund, and Mother Mole, you know.”

“Well, I suppose I’m one, too, but our bond would be stronger if we hadn’t been separated. It’s not like Jon and Ghost.” 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Daenerys said.

“At least Nymeria’s alive.”

“What kind of woman would order the death of such a beautiful creature?” Daenerys was staring ahead to where Ghost was exploring the side of the road.

“You know what kind of woman Cersei was,” Arya said. “And the direwolves had good taste. They never warmed to her like Ghost did to you.” The look Arya gave Jon was certainly accusatory.

“Your Grace,” Jon jumped in, liking this thread of the conversation even less than the previous one. “I had some thoughts about your fleet. You know that we’ve been concerned about the sighting of undead krakens in the Shivering Sea—”

He successfully steered the conversation to military and logistical matters, and there it safely stayed, even after Arya wandered away to find more interesting road companions. 

***

“The Ruby Ford is just ahead, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan said. After a single night in Darry, the army was pushing forward to cross the Trident.

“Stop the army,” Daenerys insisted. “I want to see it before they cross.”

Jon spread the word up and down the ranks of the army. It was no small feat stopping 70,000 men from marching, but he understood the significance of the place for Daenerys. After the army halted, Jon led his horse forward through the trees towards the river, where the queen had requested she be left alone. He should have stayed away, it wouldn’t be good to be caught talking to her alone, but something propelled him forward. He moved his horse down the hill and through the trees to the famous ford where Robert had slain Rhaegar. The Queensguard were stationed along the banks of the river, staring at the small woman standing in the river. 

“You can’t let her stand in the water like that. Aren’t you supposed to be protecting her?” Jon asked Ser Barristan.

“She’s the queen. We don’t command her,” Ser Barristan said. 

Jon guided his horse into the ford. 

“Your Grace, you must get out of the water, it’s not safe!” Jon shouted down to her.

“My feet are steady.” Daenerys looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. She had been crying.

“It’s frostbite I’m concerned about, not the current,” Jon said. “Cold feet can kill you or at least make you lose a foot.”

“Oh,” Daenerys looked down to where the water rushed past her booted shins. She was wearing riding britches, and her cloak floated in the current. “I can’t feel my feet anymore.”

“Aye, that’s the first sign.” Jon reached out for her with his arm and swung her up onto the back of his horse. The image of the queen on the back of his horse would cause chatter, but his concern was for the queen’s feet. He guided them back to the riverbank, where he ordered the Unsullied to find the queen fresh boots. 

Jon dismounted and then helped the normally sure-footed Daenerys off her horse. He untied a blanket from his saddle, spreading it out on the cold grass of the bank. There was no snow, but the air tasted like there could be tonight. 

“You need to take your boots off, Your Grace.” Daenerys sat on the blanket and started to tug at her boots, but they were already stiff in the temperature that hovered just above freezing. She started to shiver. 

Jon turned from her to speak to Barristan. “Create a perimeter to make sure no one from the army approaches.”

Ser Barristan said nothing, eyeing the lord commander suspiciously. 

“Ser Barristan, I promise I am a man of honor.” Jon stared Ser Barristan straight in the eye and forced himself not to blink. “But I am also a northerner. I’ve lived beyond the Wall, and I’ve seen more than one man lose a foot to frostbite. I don’t want to see the same happen to our queen. So please create a perimeter and stop anyone from spreading rumors about what I’m about to do. I promise this is purely for the queen’s safety.”

“I suppose I should have thought of this,” Ser Barristan said sheepishly. 

“Aye, you should have.” Jon returned to the blanket, where Daenerys was still struggling with her laces. 

“Come here,” Jon grunted under his breath. He tugged at the frozen boots. 

“Are you cross with me?” Daenerys asked. 

“No,” Jon clipped. “But I don’t want you to lose a foot. You’ll need to be more careful in the north. The elements will kill you as surely as the Others will.”

He tugged off her boot and started working on the other one.

“This could all be a ploy to get you to touch me.” Daenerys’s words were flirtatious, but there was no light in her bloodshot eyes.

“I doubt that.” Jon blew hot air on his hands and then rubbed them together. He winced as he touched the queen’s naked feet. They were freezing. 

“I can’t even feel your hands.” She shivered as Jon started rubbing her feet vigorously. This was no lover’s caress, but the practical motions of someone knowledgeable of what the cold could do to you. 

“I thought I saw him for a moment,” Daenerys confessed.

“Who?” 

“My brother, Rhaegar. I saw a flash of red rubies and a man with silver hair falling into the river, and then he was gone.”

Jon rubbed more vigorously, and Daenerys winced. “Ouch. It’s like pins and needles in my toes.”

“That’s a good sign.” Jon changed his movements to be more gentle, rubbing her between her toes and up to her shins. She had dainty little feet. He had never taken the time to examine them properly before. “Means you’ll be feeling them in no time. Do you think it was a vision?”

“Perhaps.” Daenerys winced but pressed her feet into his touch. “Or the wishful thinking of a lonely girl. Viserys used to tell me how different things would have been if Rhaegar had won. The riches we would have, and how the people would shout our names in the streets. My dreams were always different.”

“What were they?” Jon asked. 

“I would dream about what Rhaegar’s voice would have sounded like. Aegon and Rhaenys playing dragons with me. What it would be like to stay in one home and not have to run.”

Jon thought about his own dreams when he was a boy. He remembered crying himself to sleep at night after a harsh word from Catelyn, praying to the old gods that he would have a mother someday. Someone to hold him and kiss away his tears. At least he had had good playmates. 

“I’m sure they would have been,” Jon said. “What was your brother Viserys like? You rarely speak of him.”

“Sweet when we were children.” Daenerys started wiggling her toes. Her feet would be fine. “But he grew crueler and crueler.” She was quiet for a moment. “When he sold me to Drogo, he told me he would let Drogo’s entire khalasar and their horses fuck me if it would get him an army.” Ouch. Jon had stopped rubbing and was now squeezing her toes. His heart was racing. What kind of a monster would talk that way about his own sister? How had Daenerys not turned into a monster herself growing up like that?

“Sorry.” He unclenched his fist and continued rubbing circles on her feet. “And I’m sorry that was your only family. Was Khal Drogo kind to you at least?”

“Not at first. But I made him love me in the end.”

The fierceness of her words surprised him. Could a person make someone else love them? Was that how love worked?

“Mhysa.” Sure Spear stepped forward, holding a dry pair of boots and stockings for Daenerys. 

“Thank you.” She took them and then waved her guard away so that Jon and Daenerys were alone again.

“Can you feel your toes?” Jon released his queen’s feet.

“Yes,” she wiggled them. “Want to put my boots on for me?”

“You’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself,” Jon grunted.

“Is that any way to speak to a queen?” Daenerys yanked on her stockings. 

“It’s how I speak to my queen.” Jon wrenched his eyes away from her to look at the Queensguard, who were all pointedly _not_ looking at the lord commander and the queen. Jon’s mouth went dry. Perhaps he should have found a maid to rub the feeling back into the queen’s appendages. 

“Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if your brother had lived?” Daenerys’s words pulled him back into their circle of privacy on the woolen blanket. 

“Sometimes,” Jon admitted. “I don’t think my life would have been too different. I probably would have still been Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. But there were times, particularly early on, when I felt so alone at the Wall. And I wondered if I would feel less alone with Robb as King in the North. I know he would have listened to me and tried to help.”

“Were you two close?” Daenerys asked. 

“Aye, he was my best friend.”

“Did you envy him?” 

“Why would you ask that?”

“You were about the same age, weren’t you? You clearly received a maester's education, I assume with him. And he would become Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and you would get the Wall? Doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“I was a bastard.” Jon clenched his fist, remembering the anger he had felt in his youth. “But that wasn’t Robb’s fault.”

“Never said it was,” Daenerys finished lacing up her boot. “I just said it must have been hard for you.”

“I could never hold my birth against Robb. He was very likable. Good at everything he did and kind, too. You would have liked him.” Unbidden came an image of Daenerys and Robb together, Robb charming Daenerys with his easy laugh. They would have made a good political match, although Jon knew Robb would never have set his wife aside for another woman, even for Daenerys Targaryen. Still, he felt a stab of jealousy at the thought of them together. If chance had made a political marriage possible between Robb and Daenerys, how well would Jon have been able to hide his jealousy for that? Robb having the woman who emphatically could never be Jon’s.

“I doubt I would have liked him as much as I like you,” Daenerys’s voice was gentle and soothing in his ears. 

“I’m sure you would have,” Jon’s voice was loud and falsely cheery in his ears. “Robb was easy to like.” He had always been easier than Jon.

Daenerys stood, and they gathered the blanket and folded it together. 

“I’m glad you found some of your family,” Daenerys said. “I can see how close you and Arya are. I’m glad you aren’t alone anymore.”

“You’re not—do you feel less alone now?” Jon tripped over his words, fearing that he’d stumbled on dangerous ground. He didn’t want Daenerys to feel alone. He hated how she had grown up—without an Arya or a Robb to comfort her. She had told him once that he made her feel less alone, and yet he couldn’t be what she wanted him to be. He couldn’t take her loneliness away.

Daenerys peered up at him, considering her words. “Some days.” Jon ached at the sadness in her voice. They mounted their horses and returned to the army. 

***

“I’m sorry that someone as beautiful as you are is heading to the dreary north, Your Grace,” Ser Harry Hardyng drawled. 

“You forget, Ser Harry, that I’ve been to the north,” Daenerys said. “I found the snow and the Wall to be quite beautiful.”

“Snow in the north is nothing like snow in the mountains of the Vale. Now that’s beauty. The steep cliffs and plunging drops covered in white. You would fit right in at the Vale. Your children could nest their comfortably.”

“And what, pray tell, would bring me to the Vale?” Daenerys asked coquettishly. 

“Marrying me, of course!” Harry shouted brashly.

“Why, Harry Hardyng, I’m betrothed, and so are you!” Daenerys giggled. The sound grated on Jon’s nerves. It wasn’t Daenerys’s true laugh. It was a performance, one Jon was not enjoying.

“How could the most beautiful woman in the world possibly marry that gimp, Willas Tyrell? He’s all wrong for you, Your Grace. A week into your marriage, you’ll be bored.”

“And you think _you_ can keep my attention, do you?” Daenerys teased. 

“No woman’s ever complained with me,” Harry puffed up his chest. Jon doubted that Harry had ever bothered to ask a woman if he pleased her. He was sure this oaf had left every woman he had ever bedded unsatisfied. 

“But from what I hear, you get bored with them rather quickly,” Daenerys said. “Three bastards with three different women?”

“Proof of my virility!” Harry said. “An important trait in a king, don’t you think?”

Jon excused himself to check on his men in the back of the line. All day, Harry Hardyng had been riding with Daenerys. Jon had never liked Harry Hardyng. Sansa had brought him north with the rest of the Knights of the Vale when she took back the north. The pair had even been betrothed—a match to solidify the alliance between the north and the Vale. Jon had convinced her to end it, having seen enough of his behavior to know the marriage would have made Sansa miserable. Besides, if she married Harry, she would live by his side in the Vale, and she had proved to be invaluable to Winterfell, particularly with such an eccentric Warden of the North.

Jon had never been successful at hiding his dislike of Harry Hardyng, and the feeling was mutual. When he was in the north, Harry had goaded Jon about his status as a bastard, despite being Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He lashed out at Jon for judging his bastards when Jon was a bastard himself.

“Lord Commander,” Bronze Yohn Royce waved Jon over. “Up ahead is the fork that leads to the Twins, is it not?”

“Aye,” Jon nodded.

“Are you not tempted to lead the army west and burn the place to the ground?” Bonze Yohn asked. 

“The Freys no longer hold the castle,” Jon said. “Burning it to the ground would do little. I would prefer to bring the army to the Wall.”

“You’re very focused, aren’t you?” Bronze Yohn asked. 

“I’ve been fighting this fight for years now without enough men,” Jon said. “Burning a castle for vengeance wouldn’t help the one fight that matters.”

“And you weren’t tempted to take Winterfell? Rumor has it that your brother had a will, naming you his heir.”

“The will was made under false pretenses,” Jon gritted his teeth. “Robb didn’t know that Bran was still alive.”

“Still, a will’s a will. One would expect a bastard to accept legitimacy. Especially if it came with something as enticing as Winterfell.”

Jon stiffened at Bronze Yohn’s words, remembering the moment he had learned that Robb had given Jon everything he had ever wanted. Robb had believed in him! He had trusted Jon to become Jon Stark and Warden of the North. When Stannis had tried to legitimize Jon for his own political ends, it had been tempting but hadn’t offered the true acceptance from the Starks that Jon had always craved. Robb’s will had felt like a gift—an answer to all his prayers as a boy.

“By the time I learned of it, I had my own command.” And Bran had already arrived at the Wall—changed but alive. Accepting Robb’s will would mean leaving the Night’s Watch to take the title and position that should belong to Bran by right. A meaningful contingent of northerners had wanted to back Jon, put off by Bran’s strangeness. But another contingent would never follow a bastard while Ned and Catelyn’s trueborn son lived. Accepting Robb’s will would have meant more civil war. The north couldn’t survive it. So Jon had backed his brother and shut down all calls for him to take Winterfell. 

“You’ve returned the Watch to its former glory,” Lord Royce said. “I wish my son could have lived to serve under this iteration of the Watch.”

“I wish that the Others were merely tales my Old Nan told to scare us,” Jon said. “I would prefer that to having to elevate the Night’s Watch again. I fear the enemy we face.”

“So do I, but I feel better knowing you lead us,” Lord Royce said. “The queen made a shrewd choice to lead her armies. I’ve watched you training these men. You’re impressive. And your military intelligence as well. Your father would have been proud of you.”

Jon choked a bit at Bronze Yohn’s words. This was not mere flattery. Royce was a straightforward soldier, not a fluttering courtier. And he had known Jon’s father well. His praise meant something to Jon. 

“Jon,” Arya found him in the crowd. “The queen wants to know if you’ll be joining us for dinner tonight.”

The familiar clench of shame wrapped around his heart, replacing the feeling of pride at Bronze Yohn’s words. Would his father be proud of Jon if he knew that his son had bedded a queen betrothed to another man? Bastards were born of lust. Catelyn Stark had made that very clear to Jon as a child. And Jon had proved her right.

“Is she summoning me?” Jon responded gruffly, rolling his eyes as if inconvenienced at the thought of having to spend time with the queen. 

“Not directly, but I think she expects it.” Arya narrowed her eyes at Jon’s gruff tone. 

“Very well then.” Jon sighed loudly, hating himself for putting on this act. “Good speaking with you,” Jon nodded to Bronze Yohn. “I must check down the line.”

Jon moved down the line, and Arya followed him. “Harry Hardyng is no longer riding at the queen’s side, if you want to return to the front of the line.”

“I’m lord commander of the army, Arya. I can’t stay at the front of the line all day. I need to visit with my men.”

“Suit yourself,” Arya said. “You know I can’t tell what pisses you off more: that Harry Hardyng’s flirting with the queen or that the queen’s flirting back.”

“I don’t care about that,” Jon hated that he was acting obviously enough for Arya to see it. “I’m simply doing my job.”

“All right, brother,” Arya smirked at him. “See you at dinner.”

Harry Hardyng stuck close to Daenerys’s side all through dinner. And while Hardyng’s swagger grated on Jon’s nerves, it was Daenerys’s high-pitched performative laugh that provided kindling for Jon’s rage.

“Not that I would ever enter Randa’s bed, to be clear.” Harry had been detailing his exploits among the women of the Vale. “That woman’s bed is cursed. Killed one husband with what’s between her thighs. Wouldn’t want to think what a dalliance could do.”

Daenerys giggled, but the light didn’t reach her eyes.

“Not that she hasn't begged me for it, of course,” Harry laid back on his forearms, casually stretching his muscles for everyone to see. For the queen to see, for she was truly his target. “She’s a loose woman, that one. And she's made it clear enough to me that she wants a taste.” Harry winked at Daenerys, who giggled back. That same damn fake giggle that was designed to puff up Harry’s ego but had nothing to do with how she really felt. 

“Why, Harry, I’m scandalized! You make all the highborn ladies of the Vale seem like wonton trollops!”

“Surely, I can’t scandalize you, Your Grace. You lived in Essos. Is it true that the Dothraki fuck out in the open?”

“Ser Harry, you are in the company of ladies,” Jon snapped, setting down his own bowl of stew in protest. “I won’t have my men talking like that in front of women, especially not my sister.”

Hardyng raked his eyes over Arya’s skinny form and britches, a skeptical look on his face. Arya didn’t stop eating her stew but threw a quizzical look Jon’s way. Both Harry and Arya seemed surprised to hear Arya referenced as a lady.

“You never worry about what the Imp says around your sister,” Harry gestured to Tyrion, who was drinking deeply from his skein of wine. 

“That’s because Lord Tyrion is actually amusing,” Jon said.

Tyrion threw Jon a look as if to say, _Don’t drag me into this._

“Is it? Or is it because you don’t like me? You’ve never liked me. And frankly, Your Grace,” Hardyng turned to Daenerys, who was watching the two men. “I don't understand why _I_ , a well-born Knight of the Vale, heir to Lord Robert, should take orders from a bastard.”

“You take orders from Lord Snow, because he is the lord commander of my armies.” The flirtation was gone from Daenerys’s voice. 

“It’s an odd choice, Your Grace,” Hardyng sneered. “You must know that I’m not the first to question the wisdom of that decision.”

“And you must know that it was my decision to make, and I won't tolerate scheming aristocrats questioning my wisdom.” Daenerys stared Ser Harry down. He fidgeted where he sat by the fire, playing with his spoon. Then Daenerys smiled, the same playful smile she had been wearing all day with Hardyng. “But come now, Ser Harry, we’re friends, aren’t we? I’m still a young queen, and a woman at that! I can trust you to tell me who is whispering behind my back?”

“Of course,” Harry puffed out his chest. “You can trust me.”

Jon left, muttering excuses about tending to his horse. He had just started wiping his stallion down when Daenerys approached him.

“Can you tell me what your little scene was about?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“ _My_ little scene, Your Grace? Why do you talk to him like that?” Jon turned, dropping the brush to face her. “It’s not you. It’s not your real laugh or your real voice.”

“Why would I show my real self to a cad like Harry Hardyng?” 

“So you put on some coquettish act? And for what? You’re a great queen, and you’re talking to him like some simpering girl.”

“Pardon?” Daenerys asked. “You think I’m a simpering girl?”

“No,” Jon said. “I don’t. I think you’ve been acting like a simpering girl these past few days. I know it’s an act. What I don’t know is why you’re doing it.”

“How is it any of your business how I behave?” Daenerys asked. “I didn’t realize that it was my lord commander’s job to monitor my behavior.”

“Yes, well, you’re betrothed, Your Grace,” Jon spat. “Seems to me like you should start acting like it.”

Daenerys looked as if Jon had slapped her. 

“I have nothing to say to that other than to order you out of my presence,” Daenerys’s voice was uncharacteristically cold, but her violet eyes flashed dangerously. And beautifully. Jon turned on his heel and stocked off to assemble his tent, where he would be safe from her fire, and she would be safe from his.

***

One night in the Red Keep, Daenerys and Jon lay together after a particularly athletic bout of lovemaking. Jon tried to catch his breath, dazed at how good it felt to be with her. Daenerys told him that he didn't need to worry about getting a bastard on her. She said she knew ways to prevent a pregnancy, but lying with her, Jon knew why so many bastards existed in this world. How could anyone stay away from something that felt this good?

“That was,” Daenerys shook her head and rose from the bed. Her curls were wild, flying all around her sweaty, red face. She reached for the pitcher full of wine on the table and poured herself a glass. “I fear your talents might be wasted in the Night’s Watch, Jon.”

It was the sort of statement that could make Jon wince if he was in a bad mood, but that night he felt relaxed and happy to be with her, so he chuckled. “I’m starting to understand more why we take those damn vows. Others take me, but you’re quite the distraction.”

“Always one for the sweet talk, aren't you?” Daenerys laughed. “I've been called the Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Most Beautiful Woman in the World, but nothing’s made me feel weak in the knees quite like Jon Snow calling me a _distraction_.”

“Mmm, that’s right, you’re used to men worshipping you,” Jon said. “I’m sorry as your secret lover and the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, I can’t bring you chests full of jewels, hire bards to sing your praises, cover you in flowers.”

“Even if you could do those things, something tells me you wouldn’t,” Daenerys settled back into the bed at his side, brushing one of his curls back from his face. 

“Does that bother you?” Jon grabbed her hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious about everything he couldn’t give her. 

“No, I think I like it, actually,” Daenerys said. “I’m always surrounded by flatterers. This feels real to me in a way that nothing else has.”

“Mmm,” Jon took the wine cup from her hand and took a sip. Her words were nice to hear. He hated feeling like they were simply engaged in a court game, like all her other lovers. An affair like that would make him into a different man than he thought he was—a courtier, a fop, a true bastard. But, at the same time, the realer this was for both of them, the more dangerous it was for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. 

“Speaking of being worshipped, what are thing like with Mother Mole?” Daenerys asked, not letting the silence draw on long enough to feel awkward. “She was calling you King Crow when I left. Do the Free Folk worship you?”

“They tried,” Jon snorted and handed her back her cup of wine. “She called me King Crow for a while, which the men of the Night's Watch didn’t like. Some of my men wanted to kill me for being a supposed king of the wildlings, and I uncovered a mutiny just in time. Thing was, half the Free Folk didn’t take too kindly to that title either, you see. They didn't want a king, they had had enough of that with Mance—felt like he failed them. There was enough infighting amongst them to kill that title. And then my brother came through the Wall."

“How did that change things?”

“My brother was far more impressive to her than I am,” Jon said. "As soon as he entered the Castle Black courtyard, Mother Mole had a new target. She started a whole cult around him. Had her people start painting eyes on their foreheads in honor of the ‘Three-Eyed Crow.’ Me and my small warging abilities, and my skill with a blade, became far less interesting to her than my brother’s white eyes and odd pronouncements.”

“Were you disappointed?” Daenerys asked. “That she moved on from you so quickly?”

“Disappointed? No, I was relieved! Poor Bran can’t go anywhere without people bowing to him and flicking their eyes on their foreheads. Mother Mole created this whole religion around him and the old gods. He can’t take a shit without it being considered a holy act. It would drive me mad.”

Daenerys snorted in a most unladylike manner at that. 

“Sorry, I suppose that's crude,” Jon apologized, but the queen wouldn’t stop laughing. This was a side of her Jon never saw outside of his rooms. Her laugh wasn’t delicate, practiced, or courtly. She snorted through her nose and gasped for breath as she clutched her side.

“No, you’re right, it _is_ maddening. In Essos, some of my people treated me like that. At first I was flattered, but it grew old quickly. In the Red Keep, they bow and fawn over me, but as soon as I turn my back, I can feel them whispering about all the ways I'm not enough.” Her laughter stopped, her tone becoming more serious and sober. “I hope you never do that.”

“Do what?" Jon asked. 

“Pretend to worship me," Daenerys said. “Or actually worship me.”

“I’ll always admire you and be grateful to you," Jon said quietly, grabbing her hand and kissing it. “You came back. You did everything you said you would. Most people wouldn't have.”

“Yes, but I'm only a woman. That's why I like to be around you.” She looked up at Jon with soft, violet eyes, and Jon kissed her, unable to resist her full lips. After a moment, she pulled back. “I admire you.”

“What?” Jon had rubbed the back of his neck, blushing at her praise. “Why?”

“Why?” Daenerys asked. “I’ve seen what you’ve been fighting for years with little help. I understand why Mother Mole turned to you. You and Aemon were the only ones up at the Wall who saw the threat and were prepared to put your petty differences with the Free Folk aside to stop it. Plus, you’re the best fighter I’ve ever seen. You're a great leader. The highborn want to hate you, but they can't find a word to say against you besides the fact that you're a bastard. Sometimes I think you’re the only sensible person out there—”

Jon kissed her again on the lips, tangling his hands in her curls and pulling her closer. 

“Are you trying to silence me?” Daenerys laughed against his lips. 

“Mmm,” Jon nodded, moving from her lips to her jaw, and then lightly sucking on her ear. “You’re making me blush,” he whispered and felt her shiver against him. They stopped speaking then, their bodies continuing the conversation for them. But Jon felt something blossom in his chest at her words. She believed in him. This beautiful, smart, accomplished queen admired and respected him. And while he was loath to admit it, knowing that the Mother of Dragons considered him worthy of praise had satisfied a part of him long denied: the part that had always had to put himself last after his siblings; cried himself to sleep on stormy nights, while his brothers and sisters snuggled in their parents’ bed; avoided praise just as much as he had craved it, for fear of Catelyn Stark’s retribution. That night, being with Daenerys felt like allowing himself to be the person he had never been allowed to be.

***

After the disastrous dinner with Harry Hardyng, Jon slept fitfully. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut around Daenerys? She was the queen, and she’d given him command of her armies. What right did he have to sneer and snap at her. And over Harry fucking Hardyng? Was Jon’s problem that he’d bedded Daenerys, or was the problem that he’d stopped? Their time in King’s Landing had filled him with anxiety and shame, but until he had ended their affair, Jon had gotten along famously with the queen. Now his moods swung wildly, and in his attempts to push her away, he often ended up making a fool of himself. 

The beginning of the following day Jon spent with the contingent from the Stormlands, avoiding the queen and hanging back from the front of the line. The scenery matched his mood as he marched through the Neck—dreary marshes that increasingly were covered in snow. The longer the day went, the more craven Jon felt he was being. Craven and sullen—acting the green boy instead of taking responsibility for his actions. So at midday, he made his way to the queen’s party, where the group had stopped for their meal. 

“Your Grace,” Jon approached the queen, who had just dismounted and was stretching her back in a way that elongated her petite form and emphasized her breasts. Jon dismounted as well, handing his reigns to a page hovering nearby. “Lord Errol raised a concern with me about our supply chain that I think you should hear.”

“Oh?” Daenerys narrowed her eyes at him.

“Aye,” Jon said. “I think his concern has merit. Will you walk with me a bit so we can discuss?”

“Is this something I should hear?” Tyrion asked, as he was helped off of his mount. 

“No, I would like to discuss it with the queen first.” 

“Fine,” Daenerys sighed dramatically, as if put upon to be bothered with such trivil matters. “Walk with me to the top of that hill. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

The two set off together, a good two paces of distance between them—their bodies stiff and cold. Jon could feel the anger radiating off of her. Daenerys gestured for her Unsullied guards to follow them, but they kept their distance. Ghost bounded ahead, exploring the small hill in front of them.

“So,” Daenerys clipped. “What did Lord Errol have to say?”

“Nothing,” Jon responded. “At least, nothing of merit.”

“I figured as much.”

“Your Grace,” Jon started. Daenerys raised a brow at him. “Daenerys,” he tried again. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. That was uncalled for. I—I don’t know what got into me.”

Daenerys was quiet as they made their way up the hill. The army stretched out below them, snaking for miles down the King’s Road: 70,000 men at the command of Jon and the Dragon Queen. Daenerys’s dragons circled overhead. 

“Certain men are only ever going to see me as a girl with dragons,” Daenerys said. “I’ve known this since my time wandering the Red Waste in Essos.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me—" Jon interjected.

“Will you let me finish?” Daenerys snapped. “Harry Hardyng has been sowing discontent among the men of the Vale. They have the strongest army in the Seven Kingdoms, and Harry was quite sore that I chose Willas over him. Tyrion brought it to my attention that I need to keep him close, so that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been dealing with men like Harry Hardyng all my life. He's easy enough. He's likely to stop spreading discord if I keep him on a tight leash.”

Unbidden came an image of Daenerys leading Harry Hardyng with a rope tied to his wrist. Jon started sweating. His heart was racing. “Surely there are better ways to deal with him?” 

Daenerys stopped walking and turned to him with disbelief in her eyes. “I am the first ever ruling queen of Westeros. I’m sorry if my methods don’t live up to your standards, but I will use everything at my disposal to keep my courtiers in line.”

“Everything?” Jon tried to douse his temper. He had come here to apologize to her, hadn’t he? But now Daenerys had put the image of herself luring Harry Hardyng into her bed into his mind, and suddenly Jon heard a rushing in his ears—

“Are you jealous?” Daenerys looked at him in amazement, as if she’d just discovered some hidden clue she'd been searching for. 

“What? No, I suppose—” Daenerys raised her hand to silence him, looking behind her to where the army waited on the road. They were out of earshot, but still too close for comfort. 

“Come,” Daenerys gestured for them to continue walking. Ghost greeted them as they made their way up the hill, then fell behind, acting as their guard. When they made it to the top of the hill, piled with stones, Daenerys climbed the rocks until they were out of sight of the army. 

“So you do care?” Daenerys perched daintily on a rock. 

“What do you mean?” Jon sat across from her, pulling his legs up to create a protective barrier between him and the queen. 

“About me! About us!” Daenerys shouted in exasperation. 

“You thought I didn't care?” 

“You haven't been acting like it.” Daenerys pulled her own arms protectively around her small frame. “Before, in King’s Landing, I thought you cared. But then you ended things so swiftly, as if I meant nothing to you. But now, you’re furious. So, because you can't have me, no one else can, is that it?”

“Is there something going on between you and Harry Hardyng?” Horror coursed through Jon. The thought hadn’t seriously occurred to him until she mentioned it. 

“Of course there's not. Others take you, Jon!” Daenerys huffed in frustration, before bursting into a genuine, almost hysterical laugh. “You really think I don't have better taste than that? I mean perhaps when I was younger, but not now.”

Jon groaned and buried his head in his hands. He had been biting his words for the past weeks, trying to hide his feelings from both Daenerys and himself. Clearly that wasn’t working. “We’re moving north to a war that could last a long time, Daenerys. We’re facing years of fighting side by side. You might not want Harry, but you will probably want someone else. And you’ll have every right to take a lover, and I’ll have to stand by and watch, with only my wolf and my vows to keep me company.”

“I don't want another lover,” Daenerys said.

“Maybe not now, but you will—” Jon protested. 

“I know what we had in King’s Landing was just a tryst for you, Jon. But it meant something to me.”

“You think it didn't mean anything to me?” Was that what she thought of him? Did she see him as some cool and casual lover, used to bedding women and then leaving them?

“It was easy for you to end it,” Daenerys shrugged and hugged herself tighter. She looked so small and vulnerable. Jon had to clench his fists to stop himself from reaching for her. “And here on the road, you wear your command so well, like you were born for it. It hasn’t been as easy for me to forget how things were before.”

"You think this has been easy for me?” Jon asked. “Daenerys, I’ve been picking fights with you in front of some of the most powerful people of the realm. I’m not usually a stupid person. I know I'm drawing attention to us and need to stop. But I’ve been struggling, too.”

“Oh.” Daenerys rested her head on her hands. Her violet eyes were wide and somewhat watery.

“I don’t usually do this, you see,” Jon looked down at his gloved hands clenched in his lap. “You’re only the second woman I’ve ever been with. I have no interest in dalliances. I wouldn't have risked what we risked for a woman I didn't care about.”

“So it wasn't just that you couldn’t say no to me?” Daenerys’s voice quivered.

“No,” Jon looked behind her to the top of the hill. There were no people in sight. Only Ghost, pacing the ridge, stopping anyone from disturbing them. "It wasn’t that.” Jon reached for her hand. He couldn’t feel her skin, separated as they were between two layers of gloves, but it still comforted him to touch her. She loosened at his touch and rubbed her eyes with her free hand. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I don’t want anyone else. I can’t get you out of my head. When I returned to Essos, I was sure I was building you up in my mind, creating some fantasy lover. But then, when I saw you again—I think it’s real, what we have. I think I might—”

“I know, Daenerys.” Jon tugged on her hand gently, cutting her off. He couldn’t let her say it. Some things were too dangerous to say aloud. 

“If it's not worth the risk to you, then I can’t mean as much to you as you mean to me,” she said. 

“Daenerys, what there is between us is special because it's not just physical and it’s not just about the two of us. I lo—I care about you because I believe in you, and I believe in what the two of us can do together. If we were both to risk our mission for this—" he gestured between them— “I fear we would start to resent each other.”

“You would resent me,” Daenerys said. “I couldn’t resent you.”

“That's not fair,” Jon protested, continuing to rub circles on the back of her hand. “I’m not the only one with a temper.”

“So, what do we do?” Daenerys asked. “How do we solve this?”

“I’m Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Jon said. “We can't solve that. Not honorably.”

“So we go north together, and we work side by side, and we want, and we want, knowing how good we are together and that it can never be?”

“Aye, something like that,” Jon said. 

“It would make a good song, but living it is awful,” Daenerys sighed. “Some days I hate being queen. We need to stop fighting like this. Tyrion’s said some things, people are beginning to notice.”

“I know,” Jon groaned. “I’ll be better, I promise. I’ll stop trying to push you away.”

“And I’ll stop trying to bring you closer,” Daenerys said. “They’ll wonder where we are.”

“Aye,” Jon nodded. He needed to let go of her hand. He didn’t want to let go of her hand. He raised it to his lips instead, kissing her glove softly. He looked up when he felt her other hand smooth one of his curls away from his face. Her eyes were so soft when she was like this with him. He held a certain power over her—this fierce warrior queen who was beholden to no one. He would have to treat her with greater care.

Daenerys was the first to pull back this time. They couldn’t be found like this. Jon rose and then helped her up, careful to drop her hand as soon as she was standing. He started back up the hill, to where his wolf waited for him.

“Are you coming?” He turned back to where Daenerys stood, looking up into the sky. 

“You go ahead,” she called. “I’ll fly.”

Drogon landed at the bottom of the hill, and Daenerys marched towards him. Jon stayed where he was, reluctant to return to the army. He couldn't look at her there. But here, sheltered by the rocks, no one but Ghost would witness him watching her. She climbed onto Drogon’s back, like some character in a song. She was safer from him at this distance, idolizing her like he did in the years they spent apart. But he knew her better than that now. Whether it was a mistake or not, he couldn’t unlearn all the intimate things he knew about her. He didn’t want to.

Drogon took to the air, and Daenerys waved once, until she was so high above him that he couldn’t see her anymore, only the shadows of three dragons soaring above. Jon returned to the head of the line, where his horse awaited him. He ignored Tyrion’s and Arya’s stares and Harry Hardyng’s sulk. He guided his horse to the front of the line, leading the army north, back to the Wall and his command, where the army of the dead awaited them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for betaing LifeInEveryWord!


End file.
